Seduction Of The Reluctant Bride. Barbara McCauley
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guy, your boss. Never even seen him.”
She glanced at the front of the church, at the empty coffin, her chest tightening at the realization she never would. “That’s right.”
“How did you communicate?”
“There was a post office box in Midland, but the majority of communication was by computer and fax.”
“Computer? Fax?” Sam gave a bark of laughter. “Digger didn’t even own a cash register at the café. Said they were too much trouble. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’ve got the wrong man. You should have called and saved yourself a trip.”
She blew out her irritation, then drew in a slow, calming breath. “Mr. Montgomery left your name and address only, with instructions to contact you at the Circle B if anything happened to him. It wasn’t uncommon not to hear from him for a few weeks, but after a month, we contacted the local authorities here and found out that Francis Elijah Montgomery, alias Digger Jones, had been lost in the mountains after a flood. As vice president of Elijah Jane, it’s my responsibility to meet with you and Mr. Montgomery’s attorney to go over the details of his will and estate.”
Sam snorted. “An attorney? Digger? I wouldn’t even repeat his opinion of lawyers to a lady. ’Course, I wouldn’t repeat most of Digger’s opinions to a lady.”
“No lawyer?” She frowned. “But that’s impossible. He must have had a lawyer draw up a will.”
Sam shook his head. “’Fraid not. Digger drew up his own a few months back, sealed it and gave it to me to handle for him when the time came. The bank’s closed on Saturday, but we can check it out Monday morning. Until then, it’s safe and sound in my safe deposit vault.”
Jaw slack, all she could do was stare at him. “He drew up his own will and just handed it over to you, without any legal advice or representation?”
Annoyance flashed quickly in his eyes, the humor gone now. “This isn’t Boston, Ms. Courtland. Folks trust each other here.”
She hadn’t meant to insult him, it was just so ..so preposterous. “Twenty-million dollars is a lot of trust by anyone’s standards, in any city. A man doesn’t just scribble away that kind of money in a hand-written will.”
“You didn’t know Digger very well, did you?” Sam said, his tone mocking.
“I told you, I never met the man.” She let the burn of his words pass, then lifted her chin. “But then, it appears that you didn’t know him so well yourself.”
“Perhaps.” He stood, regarded her carefully. “I’d say, Ms. Courtland, under the circumstances, that we both have a lot to learn.”
The reception for Digger was held in the banquet room of the Cactus Flat Hotel. Tables stretched from one end of the Spanish-style hall to the other; baskets and plates and pots filled with food had been supplied by the local ladies. The smell of fried chicken, barbecued ribs and Hattie Lamotts’s honeyed ham filled the air. Chocolate cakes, warm cookies and frosted brownies enticed even those with the strongest willpower to give in. Food was a means of bringing people together, whether sharing conversation, joy or tragedy. It fed the stomach, and the soul as well.
Sam watched Faith nibble on one of Savannah Stone’s Georgia-spiced chicken wings and decided it also fed another equally important aspect of the human species.
Lust.
Her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth nipped delicately at the seasoned meat, then she daintily licked her passion-pink lips with the tip of her tongue. Sam might have groaned out loud if Jared, Jake and Dylan hadn’t been standing next to him, watching him like proverbial hawks since he’d walked into the hall with the glamorous Faith Courtland at his side. Annie, Savannah and Jessica had Faith surrounded at the moment, talking as if they’d known each other for years.
Sam had warned Faith that it might be better not to discuss exactly who she was with anyone else, or why she’d come to Cactus Flat. He’d also suggested that when she was asked, as she most certainly would be, she simply explain she was the niece of one of Digger’s old friends who’d been unable to attend. Faith had stiffened at his suggestion, in that prim little manner of hers, but had relented, agreeing that it might be best not to discuss Digger’s financial situation, or the reason for her visit, just yet.
Sam still didn’t believe it, of course. Digger Jones, owner of a multimillion-dollar company? Sure. Next thing he knew, Faith Courtland would be selling him beach-front in Abilene. Lord knows, he just might buy it, too. If she’d been in his arms one minute longer back there in the church, he’d have bought cow hats if she’d wanted him to.
He’d seen the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat when he’d pulled her close, felt the sudden rise of heat from her smooth skin. And those soft, firm breasts pressed against his chest had him aching to the point of pain. He’d been close enough to kiss her—nearly had, in fact, until she’d pushed him away. And in spite of her indignant formality with him, he’d had the distinct feeling that she’d wanted him to kiss her.
Sam looked at her now, at her squared shoulders, her long, lovely neck held high with all the grace of royalty. It gave him extreme satisfaction to know that he’d rattled the cool Ms. Courtland’s cage, if only for a moment. He’d have to work on stretching that moment out. Like, an entire night. Or two, he thought with a smile. She’d be stuck here at least until Monday morning, when he could prove to her Digger’s “estate” consisted of little more than some restaurant equipment and mining supplies. Once she realized she’d made a mistake, she’d be on the next plane out of Midland Airport. A pity, he thought, his gaze skimming over the curve of her hips and long legs.
The ladies joined the men and Jake, almost as if he’d been reading Sam’s mind, asked Faith how long she’d be staying.
She slid her baby-blue eyes in Sam’s direction. “Actually, that depends on Sam. I wouldn’t want to impose, but my...uncle, being an old friend of Digger’s and unable to travel since his surgery, asked if I would take a few days and visit with those people who knew Digger well. He thought I might bring back a few stories.”
A few days? Sam lifted a brow as he held Faith’s gaze. She could be out of here before noon day after tomorrow. Why would she stay longer than that? Not that he minded, of course, but it just didn’t make any sense. This woman was getting harder to read by the moment.
“Come for Sunday dinner tomorrow night,” Savannah offered. “We’ve all got a story or two you can take back to your uncle. We’re about as close to family as Digger ever had.”
Though it was subtle, Sam noticed Faith’s hesitation, the tightening of her body, the imperceptible narrowing of her eyes. She’d been caught in her own web of fabrication, Sam thought, and that pristine sense of propriety of hers refused to let her turn down Savannah’s invitation. She had gotten herself into it, he thought with annoyance. He had no intention of bailing her out. More than likely, she was already imagining an evening that would be more boring than watching a tree grow.
Still, as she thanked Savannah, Sam heard a slight tremble in Faith’s voice that had him wondering.
“Couldn’t help but overhear you were looking to talk to some of Digger’s friends.” Irv Meyers, the deputy sheriff, strutted into the tight circle. “Digger and me were best buddies.”
Best buddies, my eye.
Sam frowned at the owl-faced man. “Was that before or after Digger chased you down the street with a baseball bat?” he asked.
Irv tugged defensively at the belt circling his thick waist. “I warned him plenty before I gave him that parking ticket. Digger knew that. He never held a grudge.”
Everyone laughed at that, causing Irv’s face to redden. Anyone who knew Digger at all, knew damn well he hadn’t spoken to Irv in two years.
“Thank you, Deputy Meyers.” Faith held out her hand and Irv nearly tripped over his